A week passed. The chaos of the auction house faded, replaced by the peace of my garden.

  I had fallen back into my routine. Wake up, train with the Spirit Bamboo Sword, water Tim and the others, practice Alchemy, sleep. It was a good life. A quiet life.

  Then came Sunday.

  I woke up to my laptop pinging.

  [New Message: DTE Energy]

  [New Message: Southfield Water Dept.]

  [New Message: Horizon Internet]

  [New Message: Landlord]

  I opened the first one.

  Dear Resident,

  This notice serves to inform you that Southfield has been designated a Safe Zone under the Jurisdiction of the Detroit Metropolitan Authority. Order has been restored.

  Attached is a map of the new territorial boundaries.

  I clicked the map. It was a grim picture of America. The map was a sea of red, dotted with small islands of blue.

  Every city with a population over 500,000 had been secured. Detroit was a blue fortress, and Southfield—along with a few other dense suburbs—was attached to it.

  Everything else? The rural towns? The smaller cities? Red. "Independent Territory."

  "Clever," I muttered, sipping my coffee.

  The government hadn't saved the country. They had saved the tax base. They concentrated all their power—their cultivators, their military, their resources—into the population centers and let the rest of the world burn. Their experience with the pandemic had taught them exactly how to lock down a grid.

  The advantage of the Safe Zone was safety. The disadvantage?

  I scrolled to the bottom of the email.

  [Outstanding Balance: 150 Spirit Stones]

  Every email had a bill. The numbers were numerically identical to their pre-Collapse dollar amounts, but the currency symbol had changed.

  Failure to remit payment will result in immediate eviction from the Safe Zone.

  "Capitalism survives the apocalypse," I said, leaning back. "Of course it does."

  Entry into a Safe Zone for refugees must be exorbitant. But for those of us already here? We just had to pay rent to stay alive.

  I closed the laptop.

  "Well," I said to the empty room. "Time to be debt free."

  The next morning, there was a knock on the door.

  I checked the peephole. A man in a cheap suit stood there, sweating. He held a tablet and looked terrified.

  I opened the door.

  "Morning," I said.

  The man jumped. He eyed my bamboo armor, which was sitting on a rack in the hallway, and swallowed hard.

  "Mr. Kaaz? I'm Randy. I'm... uh... I'm the collector for the Sector Municipality."

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  "I figured," I said.

  "I'm here to collect for utilities and rent consolidation," Randy recited, his voice shaking. "We don't have the online portal set up yet, so..."

  "How much total debt do I have?" I asked. "Everything. Student loans, car note, credit cards. If the banks are back online, they want their money, right?"

  Randy blinked. He tapped on his tablet. "Uh... let me check. Everything?"

  "Everything."

  "Wow. Okay. Total consolidated debt is... 42,000 Stones. Plus your monthly utility bill of 2,500."

  I reached behind the door and grabbed a small sack I had prepared.

  "Here is 45,000 Stones," I said, handing it to him. "That covers the debt, the bills, and a tip."

  Randy took the sack. He opened it. The glow of the stones reflected in his eyes. He looked like he was about to faint.

  "Forty-five..." he stammered. "Sir, this is... are you sure?"

  "Yes, Randy. I'm sure."

  "Yes, sir! Absolutely, sir! I'll process this immediately!"

  "Great," I said. "Have a nice day."

  I closed the door while he was still staring into the bag like it was the Holy Grail.

  Eight hours later.

  The Wi-Fi, which had been spotty at best, suddenly kicked onto a signal that was faster than fiber. The lights stopped flickering. The water pressure in the kitchen sink doubled.

  I opened my browser. Delivery was back. Shopping was back. Everything was running smoothly, accepting Stones for drone delivery.

  It was seductive. This was why people would kill to stay in a Safe Zone. Outside, there were monsters and warlords. Inside? You could order a pizza and watch Netflix.

  The illusion of normalcy was expensive, but it was powerful.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  "Randy again?" I sighed. "Did I overpay?"

  I went to the door and pulled it open.

  It wasn't Randy.

  "Kaz..."

  It was Aiyana.

  She lived in the other half of the duplex. We had been neighbors for ten years. Once upon a time, we hung out, shared beers on the porch, and complained about work. But life happened. She got busy with her catering business, I got buried in spreadsheets. We drifted.

  She looked rough. Her curly dark hair was frizzy. She wore oversized sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her eyes were red.

  "Kaz," she whispered. "Shit's been crazy."

  "Yeah," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "It has. You see the bills are back?"

  Aiyana flinched. Tears welled up in her eyes instantly.

  "I can't pay it, Kaz. I'm not... I'm not giving you a sob story, but I'm screwed."

  "I'm not giving you money, Aiya," I said.

  She dropped to her knees. Literally. On the welcome mat.

  "Please, Kaz! This fucking apocalypse bullshit took my job! My clients are gone! My savings are worthless! They want magic rocks, Kaz! They don't give a fuck about my credit score or my cash!"

  She was sobbing now. "I don't know where to get them! I don't know how to fight monsters! They're going to kick me out! Have you seen what's outside?"

  I looked down at her. I felt a twinge of guilt. A month ago, this would have been me. Terrified, broke, begging for a lifeline. Most people in the suburbs had no idea how the new economy worked. They were just lambs waiting for the slaughter.

  I reached out to close the door, but then I stopped.

  I remembered something.

  Aiyana wasn't just a caterer. Before she went private, she was a Michelin star chef. She was a genius with food. I remembered a risotto she made for a block party four years ago that I still dreamed about.

  If my terrible gardening translated to a broken Path...

  "Aiyana," I said. "Get up."

  She looked up, sniffing, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "What?"

  "What is your Path?"

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Your Cultivation Path," I repeated. "The blue text that pops up in your eyes. What does it say?"

  "My... you mean the hallucination?"

  "It's not a hallucination. What is it?"

  She sniffled. "It says... Immortal Chef."

  Bingo.

  I had the raw ingredients—Spirit Grade produce that was worth a fortune. But I was just selling it raw. If I had someone who could process it? Someone who could turn a Heavenly Tomato into a gourmet meal that boosted stats even further?

  We wouldn't just be rich. We would own the market.

  "Come inside, Aiya," I said, stepping back.

  She stood up shakily. "You're... you're going to pay my bills?"

  "No," I said, walking toward the kitchen. "I'm going to teach you how to pay your own bills."

  I looked back at her, calculating the profits in my head.

  "And how to help me get even richer."